


We're So Paris

by PivioneBlanche



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Classroom Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PivioneBlanche/pseuds/PivioneBlanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry took French Literature because he doesn't need to actually make an effort to pass it, but he didn't count on his lecturer to be someone that quite possibly is his perfect man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're So Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always welcomed :)
> 
> Forgive the French.  
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

**We're So Paris**

The plan was the simplest Harry had in his mind. Take French literature for some easy A and maybe meet a hot guy whom he can have some fun. Not that Harry wasn't much into girls, but in his college, they were all some squeaky, squealing being, far from the perfect person he wanted. Meaning, sexy and smart and yet not too exigent, wanting a shitload of fries for diner and playing Fifa with him.

  
But the thing was, that the plan A _“I have to graduate thanks to French literature”_ he aimed for, was a bit harder than he thought. Not because the subject was way to hard for him, nor that every single guy was ugly. It was just that Harry aimed for the wrong person. The wrong person, A.K.A lecturer Louis Tomlinson, A.K.A God motherfucking bane of his existence. Harry wanted to cry and to hide and to blush whenever Louis talked to him, asking him with his chocolate voice to answer the question. He felt like a hormone driven teen, but, well, fuck it, the teacher was fit and he wasn't the only one to fantasize about those eyes, his sharp jaw and definitely of those arse.

  
Hormone driven Harry versus hormone driven college. Well. Maybe he still had a chance. At least, it was what Niall, Harry's best friend, said. And Niall wasn't the type of guys hiding their thoughts. “Seriously, Harry. He's not that old. He's... what ? Twenty-eight or something ? And by the way he's looking at, you know, Mr. Payne’s arse, I don't think he’s totally straight.”

  
Harry didn't like the thought of Louis with his eyes pinned on his Psychology teacher's ass, but it was kind of satisfying to know he had... more than zero percent of luck. Somewhere in his mind, though, a voice sneered and exposed the fact that the chance that Louis notices him was still less than two percent.

  
“Crush, or you're just finding him fit and wanna have sex with him ?”

  
Harry didn't respond but felt his cheeks redden ; and Niall snorted, packing his stuff and standing up, eyes searching for one of his long list of useful acquittance. Harry rose an eyebrow, suspicious, and Niall grinned as he tugged Harry by the sleeve of his waistcoat.

 

 

  
Zayn Malik was the scariest person of the whole college. No doubt about it. Sat on the only bench under the weeping willow, he eyed Harry and Niall approaching with a small wrinkle of suspicion on his forehead. He had silver-piercings flashing under sun rays, tattoos, knew everyone dirty little secret and had a file on every teacher, gone or not, of the establishment. He was like the spy of the college, with a fierce and menacing side, but when he saw that it was Niall walking toward him, he smiled, warm and sincere, and Harry felt the urge to rose an eyebrow or scream because, oh my God, Zayn Malik, the college-mafia Zayn freakin’ Malik, knew how to smile without being scary.

  
“Hello, Niall,” Zayn said smoothly with a confident smirk, “How’s my favorite Irish boy doing?”

  
Niall made a face, slightly annoyed but definitively blushing.

  
“Stop it, Zayn. I just want Tomlinson’s file.”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

  
The voice was malicious, and Niall bit his lower lip hard enough to make it redden and swollen. It was an irritated gesture, unconscious and automatic, but Harry did notice the way Zayn's eyes dropped on Niall's lips a split second before wandering somewhere else, between the nose and the eyes. Oh, interesting, Harry thought, but he remained silent as he watched Zayn's mouth open once more.

  
“I guess you can tell me what file you’re talking about around a drink.”

  
Oh, it was so lame, Harry wanted to cry. But Niall's cheek reddened even more as he shook his head and stomped away, something like “no way” resounding behind him. And Harry wanted to laugh, until he saw Zayn's face, blank and annoyed. His eyes, harder than ever, pinned Harry on the spot, as he snapped, cold voice sending a tremor of fear under Harry's skin. “Why are you still fucking here ?”

  
Harry was surprised that his voice was calm and sure when he replied quietly “Niall likes loud music.”

  
Zayn narrowed his eyes, not understanding the point but curious.

  
“And there's a rock concert next Sunday.”

  
And while Zayn was connecting the dots in his head, Harry fled, a slight feeling of pride in his chest as he walked slowly to his next class.

 

\----

 

  
Pride was gone when Harry stepped in the French literature class, eyes wide as he read slowly each block letter written on the blackboard, “EROTICISM IN FRENCH POETRY”. Harry had to reread at lest five time to realize that yes, it was the word EROTICISM, huge capital letters invading his field of vision. He gapped helplessly. What if they needed to write poetry too ? What if he has to read it in front of the others ?

  
“Mister Styles, are you planning to stand there forever?”

  
Some chuckles were heard and Harry felt his ears becoming hot as he scrambled onto his seat, refusing to meet Louis' eyes in embarrassment. A shame Harry didn't meet nor feel his teacher's insisting glance on his back.

  
“So...shall I begin?” Louis said, amusement in his voice. As the class didn't respond, he continued, smiling to himself in satisfaction, licking his lips slowly. Harry felt something sink in his gut. “Today, we’re going to study, as the title say, eroticism in French poetry. So...tell me. Do you know authors ? Poems ?”

  
A girl, hair bleached blonde and almond eyes, rose her hand so fast that Harry almost jumped, tearing his gaze from Louis' neck. “Yes,” the teacher said, readjusting his glasses, and the girl replied with her annoying automatic voice “I know Première Soirée by Arthur Rimbaud.”

  
Louis nodded, acknowledging her answer. “Great, miss Shore. It's one of the text we’re going to study today.”

  
Harry hated this Shore girl. She was cute and had a lovely smile and was smart. He felt like he was just a dumb prude beside her. Eyes narrowed, and totally focused on how the girl was proud of herself, he didn't see the photocopy Louis was passing out. “Mister Styles, would you kindly stop staring at miss Shore and take the paper?”

  
Harry blushed and wanted to hide under his table. But instead, he took the paper, making sure to tell himself to not touch Louis' hand.

  
It was such a fail. Harry's hand just slightly brushed Louis', and his eyes widen, brain going wild with a repetition of _“OMG contact OMG contact”_. He didn't know how long he stilled, but long enough to make Louis worry. “Mister Styles, are you okay ?”.

  
Harry shook his head and buried his nose into the copy Louis just handed him and prayed that the man would just leave him be.

 

\------------

 

Three days after that fateful day, Harry was about ready to call it quit with the class. Louis had lowered his voice, making sure Harry was okay before going on. Of course, Harry was embarrassed and wished hard that everything was like before, when Louis didn't exist and ruined his social life. But what happened happened, and Harry was mourning on the weeping willow bench when Zayn appeared, a sheet of paper in his hands. “Thank you. I guess,” he said hesitantly,before going away.

  
And Harry rose an eyebrow when he read the document. It was what Niall was talking about, a file about Louis' life. Harry didn't know how Zayn found that the teacher liked _“puppies, watching Grease and that he came out to his parents when he was 17”_ plus the fact that he couldn't _“cook well”_ and was _“playing guitar like a badass motherfucker”_ ; and it wasn't like he wanted to know. But for the last point, Harry figured out. The fingers he brushed against were calloused, definitely.

  
“... Harry ?”

  
Harry snapped his eyes open to find his lecturer’s eyes on him. He quickly creased the sheet of paper and threw it somewhere in his bag and managed to smile, ignoring the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest when he heard Louis actually called out his name.

  
“Uhm, may I sit here?” Louis asked, pointing at the empty space beside Harry, eyebrows furrowing. Harry shook his head, and Louis nodded at the answer, sighing a bit, his left hand burying in his hair. It was like he was nervous or embarrassed, but Harry didn't care, curiosity spreading in his brain as Louis took the seat.

  
“I... I wanted to ask you if it’s okay, at... you know. At home. If you have some problems.”

  
Harry's shook his head, since his voice apparently chose that time to take a walk. Louis swallowed.

  
“I'm sorry if I'm asking you personal stuff. It's just that you're like... Almost crying every time I see you. So.. I‘m... I’m a bit worried. As your professor, I mean! You're my student and I...”

  
Of course. He was just being nice, doing his job as a teacher. Harry finally rose his head and Louis fell silent, eyes searching into Harry's. Harry fidgeted. “I’m okay, mister Tomlinson.”

  
Louis seemed to searched and waited for another answer and Harry wanted to slap him in the face and scream _“You're ruining my life! I think way too much about you !”_ before going away angrily. But instead he shrugged and added, “I’m really fine.”

 

Louis just got up, smiling faintly. “You can call me Louis. I mean, when we're not in class.”

  
Harry nodded, and if he had to bury his face into his bag to muffle his desperate screams after Louis had walked far enough, than that’s between him and the tree.

 

\-----------------

 

“Zayn's a jerk!”

 

Harry jumped when a huge backpack was slammed onto the table where he was trying to finish his Modern Classics essay, “Uh, ok.”

  
”He invited me. To a concert.” Niall fummed and throws himself on an empty chair, “A good one too. If he pulled any of his spy-shit on me I swear to God...”

  
Harry made a silent pack with himself to never tell Niall what he’d done.

 

\---

 

  
For the next two months, something changed during the French literature class. Harry couldn't pinpoint on exactly what, but there was a change. Maybe it was because they talked a lot more. Maybe it was the way Louis looked at him, warmer and encouraging. Or maybe it was the fact that Harry wasn't as nervous as before, which was good, since Harry was really a brilliant student if he wasn't so scared of Louis.

  
“Harry.”

  
It was the end of the class. Everyone was exiting the cramped classroom, chatting about the current subject and the upcoming test. Harry watched the students piling out anxiously, until Louis shut the door, back leaning against it. During a split second, Harry hoped Louis was going to take an advantage of him. But instead, to Harry’s disappointment, Louis spoke, soft voice in a quiet empty room. “You should speak a bit more, Harry.”

  
Harry blushed, “I did speak. You asked me a lot of questions during class .”

  
Louis opened his mouth, eyebrow furrowing “That's totally not the point. Your writing skills are excellent but you don't participate in debates. You're not even reading the simplest text I know you can read.”

  
Harry frowned this time, a hand opening his bag, finding a sheet of paper full of notes. “What, you want me to read, Lou? You just had to ask me you know.” The nickname escaped his lips before he could think about it, but Louis said nothing, eyes widening as Harry voice resounded “Georges Bataille”. The next words were pronounced in French. Harry knew all the words' meaning, but didn't actually register them, reading away, his accent and deep voice making them slightly more subtle,

  
“Je mets mon vit contre ta joue, le bout frôle ton oreille, lèche mes bourses lentement, ta langue est douce comme l'eau. Ta langue est -”

  
Harry stops suddenly and looked up, cheeks burning red as he realized the meaning of _“ta langue est douce comme l'eau”_. Wait...did he just read an erotic poem to his teacher? Harry took a glimpse of Louis, trembling against the door. Okay. So he was totally reading something very very wrong to his teacher.

  
Louis eyes were blown wide, and Harry tried not to pay attention on the definite dent behind the tight pair of jeans. “I...” he stammered, voice wrecked, and Harry stood up, shaking his head and carefully putting his hand on Louis' arm, like he wanted to dismiss whatever he saw. He just wanted to tell Louis to step away from the door so he can escape the room that was now way too hot for their own good.

 

But once his hand came in contact with Louis’ skin, he was pushed against the nearest table, lips were on his, kissing him furiously, biting, nibbling, finding a way into the curve of his mouth while frantic hands were digging hard into the nape of his neck, sending shivers and spreading want everywhere into his body. Harry made a sound of protest, that melted into a desperate moan when a malicious hand hovered between his legs, and Louis groaned something, and managed to pull back, panting. “I... I'm...”

 

“Yeah,” Harry gasped, because it was the only thing he could say. “Yeah.”

  
And then Harry bolted out, hiding in the dirty college bathroom to finish himself off, stuffing a fist into his mouth so nobody can hear Louis' name repeated again and again as he spilled on his hand.

 

  
\------------

 

 

“We need to talk.”

 

“No, it’s okay Lou. It was a spur of the moment thing I get it.”

 

Louis opened his mouth before closing it again when he heard Harry’s answer, jaw clenched as Harry continued to talk.

  
“Look, I know you don't like me, okay? I know you have someone else you like or whoever you like to lay your eyes on, but I was reading that poem and it was crude and it turned you on and I was right there. Now please let me just...I have to go.”

 

But the next French literature class, when all the students were gone and Harry began to read another text, Louis was still there, kissing him again in the end, hard and soft and hurtful. Harry knew he was setting himself up for heartbreak, but he liked when Louis was close to him, body pressed against his, even if it was wrong, even when he knew he was just being used.

 

 

\----------

 

  
Niall was eating a sandwich, and Zayn was playing with the blond’s hair muttering under his breath how he _‘liked his brown hair better’_ , when Harry told them, cheeks red and lips swollen. Niall almost choked on his sandwich for a split second, before grinning and said “Nice catch Haz!”, while Zayn was surprisingly a bit more serious, face darker. He looked concerned, and Harry was still not used to seeing different emotions on Zayn’s face. “Are you... I mean, is he fucking you?”

  
“No, I always...” Harry muttered sheepishly, “Kinda ran away when it goes further... Or he stops and we stay still until we. Erm. Calm down.”

  
Niall rolled his eyes. “Oh my fucking God you two are adults! Just... I don't know. Do something.”

  
Harry nodded defeatedly, and Zayn patted his back. “I have strawberry condoms if you want.”

  
Niall's face went red and squealed,“Don't just give it up like that, they’re expensive!”

 

  
\-------

 

  
Louis' knuckles were turning white under the pressure of the grip he was holding on the table, but he didn't care. Eyes focused only on Harry's lips stretched around his cock, small pants escaping his lips. There wasn't finesse and there was a lack of skill, but the little sounds made by Harry were breathtaking and made Louis forget about almost everything.

  
“Shit, Haz”. Louis kept moaning filthily, trying to keep it down as Harry licked his inner thigh, hot breath ghosting over his skin. “J'ai été un très mauvais garçon, professeur...”

  
Louis suddenly forgot how to breathe, and Harry's lips twitched, forming a smirk. Harry had finally figured out that Louis had some kind of kink about filthy French sayings, and used it to his advantage almost every time he was with his teacher. Including when they were in class.

  
Louis couldn't complain, at least, Harry was participating now.

 

\---------

 

Niall and a very bored Zayn on his side were joining Harry in class that day. Most of the students were staring at Zayn, mostly because of his reputation but Harry got a feeling the fact that Zayn was sort of unapologetically perfect looking had a lot to do with the staring too.

  
The lesson was to write down what they thought about realism in French literature.

  
Harry had finished the essay beforehand having seen it in Louis’ workplan when the older man went to grab them some tissues to clean themselves with. He didn’t mean to snoop it was just that the agenda was wide opened and he figured that by finishing papers before class he could have ample time to stare at the teacher and make him squirm in his seat.

 

So instead, he scribbled down his fantasies in fluid French, receiving wide eyes from Niall and Zayn from some of the obviously dirty words.

  
 _“I want your fingers inside me. Yes, I want you to fuck me with your fingers and make me moan your name like a whore. Then you'll fuck me hard against the table. The one where we kissed for the first time. Then you'll stroke my cock and I'll be arching my back for more friction, because I love when you slide your thumb on the tip and when you whisper in my ear what you want from me. I will do whatever you want, because I'm a whore, your whore, and you fucking like it. I'll swear and curse and scream. I'll writhe under you, crying and always asking for more, more, and more and you are a fucking tease so you won't. Instead, you're just going to tell me I'm a needy, naughty, bad, bad student... ”_

  
It was not like Harry was experienced in writing these kind of things but he knew Louis would get off it all the same. He finished the short essay with a flair and licked his lower lip, eyes darting up to meet Louis' ones, blue and suspicious.

  
“Mister Styles, why are you not writing?”

  
Harry just smiled sweetly “I finished, professor.”

  
Louis just starred at him warily for a second, stretching his hand out. “Hand it in.”

  
Harry complied and returned to his seat, watching with a satisfied smirk when Louis looked around to make sure the other students were still busy before he finally read the paper.

  
A minute after, Louis' neck and ears were deep red, his breath seemed to hitch, and his legs were jittery and crossed. Niall and Zayn were exchanging glances, and Harry was sure he heard his best friend whisper “You kinky son of a bitch.”

  
Success.

 

\-------

 

Harry wasn't the kind of guy to eavesdrops. He would never purposely do that, he’s a decent human being. But he couldn't help but let curiosity dominates his mind that time. It was a weekend and while most of the student body opted to go out and have fun Harry had to hang around the library because he forgot to do an important paper due on Monday. The library was empty saved for the annoyed looking assistant librarian sitting half asleep up front, so imagine Harry’s surprise when he rounded a corner and saw his French Literature lecturer and the Psychology professor sitting at most secluded section of the library. Harry quickly hid himself behind a bookshelf before any of them even noticed him.

  
Mr. Payne was in the middle of a quiet laugh, his chest shaking slightly at each intake of breath. Louis, on the other hand, threw him a death glare. “Liam, it's not funny” he -oh God- whined. “He's totally driving me insane, you don't know -...”

  
Liam rolled his eyes. “I know him, he’s in one of my classes. Unbelievably smart but very quiet. Seems like he makes use of his voice for something else huh?”

  
Louis made a face. “Liam, I’m fucking serious. I mean... I... He's my student. I can't... I can't...”

 

“Fuck him? Have your way with him? Wreck his pretty little ass?” Liam offered unhelpfully. “You can. It's a bit obvious that he'll be totally up to it. In his own way. You just lie to him, and, well. Let the show begins.”

  
There was a silence, and Harry felt his gut sank. It was foolish and he knew from the start it was all just lust-driven; the thing was just that he didn't want to convince himself .

  
But now he knew what he had to do. Stop everything before it hurt even more.

 

  
\-------

 

 

“It was stupid, okay ? I'm your student, we can't keep doing this.”

  
The last time they did anything was a cliché. The kiss was hard and soft and comprehensive, that warmed Harry inside out like a virus taking over his body. He may clenched his hands a little too tightly on Louis' arms, not wanting to let go. But in the end, when the next French literature class ended, Harry didn't stay. Louis didn't asked him too. And everything returned to normal, well as normal as it could be. Harry stopped calling Louis by his name; now it was just _“mister Tomlinson”_ or _“sir”_. And Louis didn't dare to call him Harry. He just stuck to the formal _“mister Styles”_ , or just _“Styles”_. No first name. No nickname.

 

 

\----

 

 

  
Harry still have the file Zayn gave him and he was scrutinizing it under the willow tree when he noticed Louis’ phone number. Harry had that number, Louis put it in his phone himself after their second encounter, Under the name “Louis”. No _“mister Tomlinson”_ , no _“sir”_. Just Louis.

  
He didn’t notice Niall bounding over until the blond rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder, peering over it and asking in a sharp accusing tone, “What are you doing?”

  
 _“I fucking miss him and I want to call him and tell him I want him back and I don’t care if he would never love me as long as I could keep him!”_ threatened to escape his mouth but in the end he just said, “It's not like I can do something about it”. Niall bit his lower lip, pensive, and finally leaned back so Harry could turn around. But when he did what he saw was a black eye and some little cuts around Niall’s hands. Harry’s eyes widened and instantly worried :”What happened?!”

  
Niall let out a sigh. “Some guys have a problem with, you know. Two guys. Together. But Zayn kicked their ass, it's okay.”

  
Harry eyes narrowed, and Niall patted his back, “It’s really okay. Probably shouldnt’ve displayed too much PDA in that situation. Actually, I'm more worried about you.”

  
“I’m fine.”

 

“Yeah. You're to kind of guy that needs to forget. And,” Niall smirked “We’ew gonna take you to where you can forget.”

  
Harry didn't know how Niall and Zayn actually managed to drag him to a club full of dudes and alcohol. But it didn't really matter when Niall buys him beers, with a wide smile on his bruised face and more than a couple of nice looking guys eyeing him.

 

 

\--------

 

 

Unknown (01:45AM) : Louis.

  
Unknown (01:45AM) : I miss you.

  
Unknown (01:45AM) : I miss your lips.

  
Unknown (01:46AM) : So I kissed a guy.

  
Unknown (01:46AM) : He looked like you.

  
Unknown (01:46AM) : But he didn't smell like you.

  
Unknown (01:49AM) : I love your smell.

  
Unknown (01:49AM) : It's breezy.

  
Unknown (01:49AM) : You forgot your scarf the last time.

  
Unknown (01:50AM) : The black and white one.

  
Unknown (01:50AM) : Its smell is yours.

  
Unknown (01:50AM) : So I get off sniffing it.

  
Louis (01:58AM) : Who the fuck is this?

  
Unknown (02:17AM) : Your ex-boy toy

  
Louis (02:18AM) : Harry ? Are you drunk ?

  
Unknown (02:19AM) : Maybe, maybe.

  
Unknown (02:19AM) : I just know that I want to be naked.

  
Unknown (02:20AM) : With you fucking me.

 

Louis gripped the phone in his hand and hit his head against the wall.

 

Harry (02:45AM) : I love you.

 

\---------

 

The next morning Harry stared at the screen of his phone, absentmindedly deleting the _“Sent Messages”_ box, like it was going to erase the fact that it actually happened. He knew it was useless, but not seeing the “ _I love you”_ he wrote was making him feel better. Finally, when Niall had to go to class, Harry switched off his phone and went back to sleep, he’s not going to even bother showing up in class.

  
It was noon when he got up. Head still pounding and world still spinning in a bad way, Harry somewhat managed to go in the kitchen, struggling to read the small note Niall left on the counter _“Sorry, dude. I ate your cheesecake. But I left the tuna salad in the fridge. And there's painkiller on the left drawer courtesy of your wonderful friend.”_ There was a wonky heart on the paper sheet too, and a small smiling face saying _“Niall”_.

  
Harry groaned, swearing to God he was going to chop Niall's head off for taking him to the club (and for finishing his cheesecake) as he searched for the painkiller, then he slowly trotted back to bed, eyeing his phone with hesitation .

  
There was at least five minute in which Harry was pondering if he should or shouldn't switch it on, but then he was pressing the start button, and, as the phone showed the familiar opening scheme, Harry closed his eyes, dreading on what he would get once it fully turned on. Or worst, what he won’t received.

  
The moment the welcome screen disappeared, Harry felt his phone vibrating seven times. Swallowing, hard, he opened the text folder and began to read.

  
Niall (10:30AM) : Louis is lashing out

  
Niall (10:30AM) : I never saw him like that

  
Niall (10:45AM) : OMG he nearly punched Mr. Payne

  
Niall (12:23PM) : Lisa said that he’s distracted in class.

  
Niall (12:30PM) : He needs his daily Harry dose ~ ♥

 

Harry gulped, his headache just got 10 times worst. He scrolled up and pondered over the two newer messages he purposely skipped before, The contact name glaring at him.

 

Louis (12:22PM) : Are you okay, Harry ? Text me back please. We need to talk about last night.

  
Louis (12:48PM) : I talked to Niall. I'm going to your place after class. He told me you're a bit... Sick.

 

Harry closed he eyes, no point in running away, biting his lips as he texted back, choosing his words carefully :

 

Harry (13:03PM) : I have class, I'll see you in your office at six?

 

He waited a bit, thumb trembling as he brushed the “send” button. Minutes after (exactly two minutes and thirty six seconds), his phone vibrated once more.

 

Louis (13:05PM) : I’ll be waiting. xx

 

 

Harry had no intention to go to any of his classes that day, he needs time to nurse out his hangover and think about what he was going to say to :Louis.

 

 

  
\------------

 

 

18:01

 

His palms were sweating, his shirt was almost plastered against the skin of his back, and he was repeating over and over what he wanted to say. Inhale, exhale. Until he heard a loud exasperated groan coming from the other side and Harry thought, screw it, opening the door.

 

“Ah, hum. Harry. Hello.”

 

Louis was sitting behind his desk, voice hesitant. His hair was in disarray looking like a hand just pulled and yank on it, his glasses as on the pile papers, and his left hand, resting on it, twitched a bit when Harry approached, dragging a chair to face Louis, putting his bag on the ground. They stayed silent for a few minutes, until Harry opened his mouth, eyes still stubbornly on the ground :

  
“Lou, about yesterday night... I was drunk and I...I don’t know I just...”

 

There was another silence, and Louis asked, quietly :

 

“Is it true ?”

 

The older man didn’t elaborate but Harry knew what he meant. He fidgets with his fingers, his head down and Louis got his answer.

 

The second after, he was lifted by the collar and his lips were crushed by Louis', and Harry couldn't think of anything else other than... _oh my God, what is happening? What is that? What? Louis? What the fuck?_. It took a second kiss, more insistent, and a groan, needy and eager, to make Harry respond, pouring shame and anger and naked want, in the kiss. The desk in front of him was hurting his legs but he didn't care because Louis fucking pulled him so he had not other choice but to climb on it, sitting on it and pushing pens, chalks, papers, out of the way.

 

“You kinky son of a bitch,” Harry muttered, picking Niall's favorite line, eyes wide, when Louis let him breathe. Louis just chuckled, licking a path of skin under the younger's jaw before biting it, earning a strangled groan. Harry's hand automatically searched for something to hold, and found the solution in making him wrap his arms around Louis' neck.

 

“Missed you so much...” Louis gasped, fingers already popping open the buttons of Harry's shirt to place a kiss on the hollow of his collarbone, loving how Harry's breath hitched. “Missed so much of your lips... Missed so much of everything...” It was a bit heartbreaking, because Louis sounded totally wrecked, like he’s on the edge of something and so desperate that made Harry's eyes open. He stilled, calming his breath and clearing the lust cloud in his brain enough to make himself speak up, “Are you sure … I mean, your job...”

 

Louis shook his head. “I don't fucking care.” And he was back on Harry's body, sliding off the offensive clothing and starting to unbuckle the belt, sliding a hand into the boxer briefs to grab Harry’s hard on with a devious smile. And everything disappeared but Louis and him.

 

“Please, Louis,” Harry whined, hands grabbing on Louis' tie, pulling on it, loosing it, but never undoing it. “Clothes. Your clothes”. And Louis made a small noise of protest, not wanting to leave Harry's hot flesh, but complied, throwing his suit somewhere in a short second and literally tearing his shirt away. But when he reached for his tie, Harry shook his head. “Leave it.”

 

Louis' eyebrows furrowed, and Harry blushed a bit, ignoring the snort that Louis made. “And you say I'm kinky?”

 

Harry wanted to make some sort of a retort but Louis' hand was making his pants and briefs slide off his legs, leaving him naked and exposed. Harry blushed even more and Louis choked down a moan as he stroked the younger, back arching and lips bitten. Oh Harry looked amazing like this, Louis wanted to say, but instead, he stopped, undoing his own pants to throw them where the rest of his clothes had gone. Harry gasped and suddenly there was a reddish fabric stuffed into his mouth and his eyes opened, wide and lost. Louis ran a hand in his damp curls, enjoying the soft locks against his skin as he explained, shit-eating grin on his face. “I don't think you want the others hearing you, Harry, you're way too loud...” ; and Harry nodded, trying to convince himself that a handkerchief silencing him shouldn't be turning him on even more.

 

Louis laughed, actually laughed, and Harry couldn't help but hide a smile behind the fabric. The older doesn’t laugh a lot, so Harry watched, fingers idly tracing Louis' naked torso, earning a small gasp and lips pressing instantly on the corner of his.

 

“Harry, tell me if you don't-...”

 

But Harry silence him with a sharp claw on his nipples, and Louis took a deep breath. “I don't have anything, do you...?”. Harry repeated his action, indicating his bag on the ground and took the time to catch his breath while waiting for Louis to came back, there was no harm in being a bit presumptuous and came prepared. When the older man finally came back, he was chuckling, an amused look in his eyes, “Strawberry? Are you serious?”.

  
Harry was silently thanking Zayn in his head before he cried out a curse when Louis' lubed up finger circled his entrance and sliding in without warning, teasing. Harry was writhing on the desk making it creak. The spit covered cloth fell onto the ground, and Harry made so much noises that Louis became harder from the thought of someone hearing the noises Harry was making for him. He bit his lip, his blue eyes, brilliant dark and burning, watching each movement made by Harry. When Harry seemed to relax a bit more, Louis added a second finger, moving a bit tentatively, and Harry groaned bluntly “Oh please, Louis, just fuck me already !”.

 

  
Louis nodded, not trusting himself to talk, his worry about Harry not being prepared thoroughly enough went out the window when Harry reached for his cock, gave it a few messy tuck before helping him align himself and pushing in.

 

“Fuck,” Harry panted hand flailed a bit trying to brace himself, finally settling in holding on the ties that was still around the teacher’s neck, “oh God, fuck” ; and Louis gasped a “Shit” in the same time, not stilling. He just pushed until he was fully inside, until both of them couldn't think about anything but the fact that they finally broke the barrier. Harry managed, somehow, to breathe out a “move, please”, between a plead and an order.

 

And Louis did.

 

It wasn't smooth, nor harsh. It was perfect. Harry was trembling with pleasure, toes curling and hissing, and Louis had to fight the urge to spill obscenities in French.

 

 

 

\-------

 

 

“I... love you.”

 

Harry was tugging up his pants and handing Louis' suit back when the older spoke, voice quiet but body stiff with anticipation, or maybe nervousness. Harry smiled faintly, walking toward Louis and fixing his tie, replying slowly “You don't have to force yourself you know. I could settle with just being your boy toy, I’m a grown up I can handle it.”

 

Louis' brow furrowed. “I’m being serious, Harry. Maybe I’m not where you are right now and we can’t exactly tell anyone about this but I want to keep you, you know. Be with you, and all that stuff.”

 

There was a silence when Harry finished with Louis’ tie and draw their foreheads together.

 

“God I’m such a sap.” Louis snorted suddenly.

  
And Harry laughed, Louis watching him with a nervous smile, “You look like you're going to cry. It's cute.”

  
Louis protested instantly, cheeks burning : “I'm not !”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I have to go, monsieur, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

It was another ten minutes of just gentle kissing before Louis sent Harry off with a slap on his bum.

 

\- End -

 


End file.
